


I. Mind Splitting Girl

by BubblyWashingMachine



Series: Every Little Hurt Counts [febuwhump 2021] [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Allison Hargreeves-centric, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Canonical Child Abuse, Character Study, Emotional Whump, FebuWhump2021, Gen, Mind Control, No Romance, Pre-Canon, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Whump, febuwhumpday1, gonna be honest idk what qualifies as a character study but it makes me feel fancy so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29129157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BubblyWashingMachine/pseuds/BubblyWashingMachine
Summary: Allison's heart is racing, and her palms hurt from where her nails dig into her skin. She forces herself to calm down, standing alone on the stairs. She wonders with distance if Luther, up in his room, heard everything that just happened.She won’t think about what she just did, the implications, the ramifications – none of it matters. What punishments could she possibly face now? Allison is free, and she alone. Her powers are a part of her; without them, who would she even be?She grits her teeth, and relaxes her hands, grimacing at the painful red marks on her flesh.It was worth it. It has to have been worth it....Allison Hargreeves is a child who was born with the burden of a terrible, wonderful gift - the power to reach inside a person's head and violently twist what they see; to search out their will and break it into pieces. She has been trained by her father to wield her gift mercilessly, until her grasp on reality - anyone's reality - is faultless. Until her hesitation is gone.But Allison Hargreeves is still a child.
Relationships: Allison Hargreeves & Ben Hargreeves, Allison Hargreeves & Diego Hargreeves, Allison Hargreeves & Everyone, Allison Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Allison Hargreeves & Luther Hargreeves, Allison Hargreeves & Vanya Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy & Allison Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy & Vanya Hargreeves
Series: Every Little Hurt Counts [febuwhump 2021] [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2137428
Comments: 10
Kudos: 57





	I. Mind Splitting Girl

**Author's Note:**

> Day one of febuwhump complete!! just ten billion more to go. I have them all planned out though and they're all TUA, and honestly I'm really excited about most of them. This one turned out really long though because it's like seven snippets crammed into one. The others hopefully won't be so taxing.
> 
> Anyway... guys... this fic is quite good... okay, that's just my opinion, but honestly I'm proud of this.
> 
> I want to make it clear that I love Allison. I think she is such an interesting character, HOWEVER! I am also aware that this fic (which conceptually started off as a pretty innocent 'seven times allison used her rumour' kinda thing) unintentionally spiralled into something closer to 'what if all the bad things that happened were actually accidentally allison's fault?' kinda thing instead. It is what it is, and I love my girl, but she is a seriously messed up child just like the rest of them and mind control is an incredibly dangerous power for a child to wield responsibly. Just putting that out there.
> 
> oh, and, since i'm dealing with what canon gave me to work with, there are hints of the allison and luther connection, but to be honest they're just bffs because that's all i'm comfortable with writing. so there is no romance or anything
> 
> Enjoy!

Number Three Hargreeves is freshly five years old, and, as it does for all the Hargreeves children, that means it’s time for her _accelerated_ individual training to commence.

It begins on a Wednesday. Mister Pogo says that her training will always be on a Wednesday, because Wednesday is the third day of the week, and Three is the third Hargreeves child. Three isn’t as excited as One is about it, because she likes her free time and her special language studies, but she is curious, at least.

(Apparently Seven doesn’t even have to do any training, since she got sick. Seven’s no fun anymore ever since she got sick – she’s all tired and boring _and_ she can’t blow things up. She won’t even _talk_ about it. And she’s not allowed to play with them anymore either. Number Three really, really hopes _she_ doesn’t get sick.)

Anyway, it’s Wednesday. Number One is her favourite playmate, and he said his training was fun, showing her the pretty blue bruises on his arms with pride. He said he lifted a whole table. Three thinks that if he had fun lifting a table then she can have fun doing what she does, which is making other people do things. It’s a lot more fun than lifting things, and she’s _very_ good at it.

“Number Three, stand over there,” Dad says loudly, and Three does what he says without complaining, because Number One is here and he’s looking at Dad with wide eyes. Are Wednesdays _always_ going to be so loud? “Does she know how to pronounce the word _waltz_?” he asks the new nanny.

“Yes,” the nanny, Grace, says sweetly, smiling at Three. “You can say _waltz,_ can’t you, dear?”

“Yes!” Three is quick to agree, because even though she’s not one hundred percent sure what a waltz is, she definitely knows that yes is the right answer.

Dad narrows his eyes. “Good. Repeat the words on this card exactly.”

He holds up a piece of card, and Three puffs her chest out. She can read really well, better than everyone else can, and he’s going to be so impressed. She decides, looking closely, that the card says _I heard a rumour that you can dance the waltz._

“ _I heard a rumour_ that you can dance the waltz,” she says neatly to One, folding her hands in the proper way that Dad likes. But Dad’s not even looking at her, he’s staring at One expectantly, and One blinks at her shyly when the white cloud fades from his big blue eyes.

“Well?” Dad demands, pinched. At One’s helpless look, he sighs. He sounds annoyed, and Three frowns at One. “Dance, child!”

“Right, okay,” he says clumsily, going red in the face, and the new nanny uses the record player - that they’re not allowed to play with - to play music. One’s face changes strangely – his eyes cloud over again for a second, and then, suddenly, he is dancing. His feet move jerkily like a puppet, and his mouth is open in a slightly panicked way, but his body glides around the room in time to the music, like he knows all the steps.

“Fascinating,” Dad mutters, which means _good,_ and Three smiles proudly. He doesn’t look at her or smile, but he writes something down, and the nanny gives her a small candy from a bowl. Three pops it in her mouth quickly – sweets are a rare treat, and if Four sees it he’ll steal it for sure.

Number One keeps dancing all the way until the music stops.

…

“ _I heard a rumour_ ,” ten-year-old Three says, shifting her feet and not quite looking Two in the eye, “that your powers didn’t work.”

Silence. The air in the courtyard is sticky and heavy, not a single breeze creeping through the buildings’ cracks, and the limp leaves on the cobblestones by Three’s feet lie flat and sad.

“Number Two,” Dad says expectantly, waiting, and Three finally looks at her brother and regrets it. He looks very angry, and he probably won’t talk to her for a while. But Three is confident that it’s not _her_ fault, it’s just her training - it’s not like it’s permanent or anything. He’s being a baby.

After a few seconds of glaring, Two picks up the knife, holds it in his palm for a moment, and then throws it at the target.

It falls laughably short of the bullseye, and doesn’t even stick, clattering to the cobblestones. Two scowls at the ground, turning back to face them, jaw clenched. His gaze meets Three’s, burning, silent but judging. She rolls her eyes. Pride warms the inside of her chest.

Dad says, “I see. Dismissed.”

“B-but,” Two’s head jerks up, “my p-powers?” He sounds truly frantic, which is unnerving coming from him.

“Oh, yes,” Dad says without looking, already walking away, and Three feels irritation bubbling up inside her. If Two hadn’t been such a brat about it, maybe he would have stayed longer. “Number Three, restore them.” He waves a hand in her direction without a glance.

The two of them watch him go, neither quite mustering up the courage to call for his attention, then glower at each other. Ever since Dad said they would be starting real missions soon, Two’s gotten even more argumentative and sullen. It’s like he doesn’t even want them to be a good team – he’s always so distracted by his stupid jealousy of One to be any good in training. Three thinks he doesn’t even deserve to be Number Two – One trusts her more anyway, _and_ her power is more useful.

Two takes a step towards her.

“ _I heard a rumour_ you had your dumb powers back,” she mutters, ignoring the way Two visibly shivers in relief.

Maybe if she were a little older, a bit more emotionally mature, she might have some thoughts about what it must feel like to have something so crucial to your identity be stripped away, ripped out from inside of you without permission.

As things are, Number Three turns and marches back inside, to her bedroom, to find One and complain until it’s time for dinner. He’ll sympathise with her. Number Two is always so _frustratingly_ immature.

…

“I don’t think it’s going to work,” eleven-year-old Three says tentatively.

Dad only scoffs, and gestures at Grace – Mom. “I don’t recall inquiring as to your opinion, Number Three.”

“Yes, Sir,” she mutters.

“Now use your power.”

Three glances up at Mom, at her unshakable, warm smile and cold eyes. “What should I say?”

“Whatever you like,” Dad answers impatiently. “Are you not capable of thinking for yourself?”

“No – I can do it,” she says, too quickly, afraid to look at his expression. She steels herself, looks Mom in the eye, thinks fast. What does she want her to do? “ _I heard a rumour_ you did a cartwheel.”

There. An easy physical command, something simple. If she said that to one of her siblings they would immediately be springing across the floor.

Grace just stands there.

“Again,” Dad commands.

“Uh – _I heard a rumour_ you sung us a song.”

Nothing. Embarrassment and frustration wind their way around Three’s throat, and she feels her face flushing red. This is an exercise in humiliation – she’s only glad the others aren’t here to mock her, she can only imagine the little snickers from Four and Two, and the pitying looks from One and Six. Five would certainly be gleeful, revelling in her failure. She grits her teeth and Dad starts to turn away, obviously giving up.

“ _I heard a rumour_ you gave me a name. _I heard a rumour_ you went blind.” With each word she begins to feel a little angrier, glaring at Grace’s stupid plastic smile and her unwavering resistance. Her power ripples in the air and fades out as it travels, with no one to receive it. “ _I heard a rumour_ that you hated Pogo.” Her voice gets louder. “ _I heard a rumour_ you were a real human. _I heard_ —”

“Enough,” Dad calls out sharply, and her words choke off immediately. “Control yourself, Number Three,” he snaps.

“I can _do it_ ,” she insists, fists clenched. His eyes narrow.

“Quite clearly, you cannot.”

“I just need to keep trying!” She is desperate, irritated. Can’t he _see_?

For a frightening, weak second, she considers how easy it would be – just a few words – she could make him _see--_

“It is no use.” His voice is forceful, commanding, she and instantly feels ashamed for even thinking it. “Obviously your powers are more limited that I had hoped. How disappointing,” he sneers, shaking his head and turning away. Three feels herself deflate, the strange angry energy inside her fizzling out. God, what was she _thinking_? She just embarrassed herself so badly, _and_ she argued back. Her head sinks low.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Your behaviour this afternoon has been extremely unbefitting. I would expect such a childish outburst from Numbers Five or Four, but I was under the impression that you were more mature than your brothers. Perhaps I was wrong.” With every sentence Three sinks a little lower, nails biting into the palms of her hands. “You will return to your room and remain there until breakfast. You will take the time to re-evaluate your attitude problem.”

That means no dinner. “Yes, Sir,” she says dully, bitterly, and looks at the carpet while he leaves. Mom can’t console her.

She is going to try harder in secret. It’s only a few months until their twelfth birthday, and their first ever mission when the Umbrella Academy goes public, and she won’t be a disappointment by then. She won’t. She _is_ more mature than the boys, smarter and more useful than them, and she _will_ prove it. She’ll be the most resourceful member, the best strategist, Number One’s right hand woman, the best part of the team. Dad will see, he’ll notice, once she does better. Then the whole world will see. And then they’ll love her.

…

“Use your power on me,” Klaus says.

Twelve-year-old Allison jerks back. “Um, excuse me?”

“Come on, I know you can do it,” he insists, a little edge of desperation creeping into his words. Allison puts the nail polish brush back in the bottle, and leans back against the headboard.

“It’s not some party trick.”

Her brother lets out a hollow laugh. “Yeah, yeah, I know. But will you do it? For me?” His eyes are big and hopeful but she knows better than to trust anything Number Four says or does.

“What do you even want me to say?” This is stupid.

“Take away my powers,” he says earnestly, and her jaw drops.

“ _What_?” She hisses, suddenly aware that someone could be listening. Dad could be watching. Her door is closed, but there’s always a chance. Privacy is a forbidden concept in this house. “No way. I’m not doing that. Are you _crazy_?”

“I’m serious,” Klaus maintains, becoming slightly manic, leaning forward, grinning with a frightening intensity. “Diego says you can do it. You did it on him once, didn’t you?”

“That was for training,” she defends, feeling uncomfortable. He pulls a face.

“So? If it worked for him, why not do it for me?”

“You’re freaking me out.” The words come out a little more honest than she’s expecting.

Klaus doesn’t seem to notice or care. “ _Allison_ ,” he whines, lounging back across her bed, sprawled out on top of all the glossy magazines she’s painstakingly collected. Ones with her face on them, mostly. The warm yellow glow from her fairy-lights, rather than feeling cosy like they did when she bought them, now cast a sickly light across his face. “I hate the ghosts, I hate training, I hate everything. I don’t _want_ my powers anymore.”

That sends a wave of… something running down her spine. Why should he just get to decide that? Aren’t they supposed to be a team? He can’t just choose to leave them, to escape. He’s a part of the Umbrella Academy just like she is – if he throws that away, who would he be? Who would she be, if she lost her own powers?

“That’s too bad, Klaus,” she says hotly. “They’re a part of who you are. And anyway, what would Dad say? You couldn’t stay here if you didn’t have them. This is the _Umbrella Academy_ , remember?” She needs him on the team. What would the press say if one of their members suddenly disappeared?

“Vanya lives here and she doesn’t have any powers,” Klaus says, looking at her like she’s stupid, and – oh yeah. She forgot about Vanya.

“Okay,” she says quickly, “But still. I feel wrong about doing that to you.”

Something in his expression darkens and twists. “You only feel it’s wrong because I’m _asking_ ,” Klaus says in an ugly voice. “You’ve done worse things. Don’t pretend you’re so moral and pure, Number Three. Why is this such a big deal?”

 _Moral and pure? Ugh! What a jackass!_ “ _I_ get to choose what I do with my powers,” she says, feeling riled up. Maybe this is what he wanted. She glares at him anyway. “And I don’t want to—"

“No, you don’t get to _choose_ ,” Four spits. “None of us get to choose anything that happens to us!”

“Well I’m choosing right now, and I think you’re being an asshole!”

“Newsflash; You’re an asshole too, Allison!” Klaus laughs without humour and throws his arms out angrily. “We’re all assholes here! Can’t you just do this _one_ thing for me?”

“No! You’re being horrible and _insane_ ,” Allison cries, scrambling up from the bed and pointing a finger at him. “I’m not doing anything for you! You think you can just come in here and beg me to take away your powers like I’m just some convenient – convenient miracle worker? Like it wouldn’t affect any of us, too? What about the team?”

“Who _cares_ about the stupid team!”

“I care, dickhead!” Allison is yelling now. “The whole world cares! God! You’re so _selfish_.”

Klaus gets up too, snarling. “ _You’re_ the one who’s being selfish! I just wanted a simple favour, I thought that wouldn’t be so hard for you to understand, but I guess you’re just like Luther, wrapped up in your perfect little golden world of superheroes—”

“ _I heard a rumour_ you _shut up_ ,” Allison says fiercely, tense and furious.

She waits as his eyes cloud over, trying to remember to breathe. Then Klaus just stands there and glares at her, his eyes wet.

“I’m not helping you,” she says in a low voice. “Maybe if you learned how to use your powers properly instead of slacking off, you wouldn’t have this problem.”

Klaus’s mouth contorts into a dreadful scowl.

“You’re just going to have to learn to _live_ with your powers like the rest of us have to.” She swallows hard, lifts her chin, forcing her voice to stay steady and strong, just how Dad has trained her. You’re stuck here like the rest of us, and you’re going to be a part of the team whether you like it or not.” Her hands are shaking. She doesn’t even know if her power is still activated, whether these are commands, or what. “Now _leave me alone_.”

She turns away and glares at the wall, blinking away itchy tears, and doesn’t watch as Klaus unwillingly leaves the room and his footsteps echo down the hallway. He’s going to be mad. He’ll get over it.

This is for the best, she tells herself. This is better.

…

“Wait a second,” Five says loudly, just as they’re about to leave, and thirteen-year-old Allison could just about kick him. What part of _sneaking_ out does he not grasp? “We have to wait for Vanya.”

“What?” Diego’s nose crinkles up in the darkness. “She’s no-not inv-in-invited. This is a t-team-only thing.”

Five folds his arms. “We’re not just leaving her here _alone_. She’s coming.”

“She won’t even know. I bet she’s still asleep,” Allison says tiredly. “Just come on, okay? We have to go. She can come next time.”

“I told her. She’s on her way,” Five insists stubbornly, and Allison groans. All she wanted was a doughnut, was that too much to ask? Apparently so. Everything has to be a drama around here.

“Vanya’s n-not on the team so sh-sh-she’s not invited,” Diego argues back.

Ben, looking nervous, says, “Can’t we wait just a few more minutes?”

“She’s still a _Hargreeves,_ ” Five snaps, and Allison knows better than to disagree out loud. “And anyway, if it’s team-only, let’s leave Klaus behind. He’s _useless_ on missions.”

“Oh, shut up,” Diego says. “And if you wh- want to wait for Vanya so bad, I’m sure you c-could just freeze t-time until she gets here or wh-wh-whatever, _right_?” Allison has to make an effort not to smile at that one. Five literally has not shut up about time travel for weeks now, and it’s so annoying.

Five scowls. “You’re _such_ an idiot, Two, time travel doesn’t _work_ like—"

“It’s risky enough having the six of us sneak out, Five,” Luther says calmly over the top of him, trying to de-escalate the situation as usual. Tensions have been pretty high lately, with them going on more missions every week and Five bugging Dad about time travelling every ten minutes. “Look, it’s just safer for everyone if she stays behind, okay? You can bring her back a doughnut if you want.”

“It’s not about the _doughnuts_ ,” Five growls, balling his fists. “What difference is one person going to make anyway?”

Klaus raises a lazy hand. He smells vaguely of some illicit substance, sweet and sickly. “Uh, _are_ we getting doughnuts, or can I go back to bed?”

“We’re _going_ ,” Diego snaps. He turns and starts to climb out of the window, to get to the fire escape.

Five moves like he’s about to grab Diego and push him off the ladder. Allison instinctively reaches out and grabs his arm, and he whips around to glower at her. She doesn’t even have to think at all before she says, “ _I heard a rumour_ you forgot about Vanya for a while.”

Five’s eyes fog over in that familiar way, even as he tears his arm from her grasp and stumbles back.

He blinks heavily, brow furrowed, like someone with a bad headache, and the rest of them watch uneasily to see what will happen. She bites her lip, pretends not to notice the disappointed look Ben is giving her. Luther makes as if to reach out, then thinks better of it.

“Five?” he says instead.

Five looks up, surprised for a second, until his face clears and he grins. “What are you all gawking like that for?” He asks, then apparently decides he doesn’t care. “Last one to Griddy’s is a Terminaut,” he says cheerfully, and then blinks out of the room in a flash of blue light that burns itself into the back of Allison’s eyelids.

While Klaus, Diego and even Ben, glancing over his shoulder shyly but too afraid to speak up, start to hurry down the ladder, she and Luther stand in his dark room and let out a sigh of relief.

“That could have gone badly,” Luther says quietly.

Allison chews her lip. “It’ll wear off,” she says, but she isn’t really confident about… _when._

Luther just looks at her without saying anything, and eventually gestures in a gentlemanly way for her to go down the ladder first. She really appreciates the silence. He always understands. Now, it’s time for her to focus on having a good time and eating doughnuts until she feels sick.

The next day, Vanya shows up to breakfast a tear-stained and pale wreck, and Allison stares down at her oatmeal and tries not to feel guilty. They all do, all resolutely not looking at her, even Five, who doesn’t seem to be sparing her a single thought, wrapped up in his own thoughts.

At lunch, Five stabs his knife into the table, yells at Dad a bit like he has for the past few days, about time travel as per usual. But then, unlike the past few days, Five runs out of the Academy without a single glance behind him, and Allison sends Luther a wide-eyed look, dread and uncertainty making her feel sick inside. He just stares at her, and no one follows, not even Vanya.

It’s fine, she tells herself, despite the uncomfortable feeling of guilt sinking inside her. It was just a tantrum. Maybe he would have left anyway. Maybe it isn’t her fault.

He’ll come back. He will. He has to.

…

“No, I don’t want to!”

Ben’s reedy voice echoes around the stone walls in the museum, and for a second, they all just stand there and stare. Luther’s mouth opens and closes, before he finally says, incredulous, “But – you have to.”

“No!” Ben yells, taking a step back, voice watery and wobbly. “I don’t – I don’t want to. Please.”

Diego looks sympathetic, and fifteen-year old Allison taps her foot impatiently. “Look, Ben, it’s j-just some bad guys, you’ve done it loads of times before. You d-don’t have to be scared, just—”

“I’m not scared,” Ben argues, pleading. “But they have hostages. _Children_. I can’t do it in front of them!”

“Exactly, they have _hostages_ , which is why we need to stop wasting time—”

“Oh shut up, Luther, why d-do-don’t you go and—”

“He’s the only one who can save—”

“There has to be another—"

“He just needs to—”

“Hey! Stop arguing!” Allison shouts. “Luther’s right, we’re wasting precious time!”

Diego rounds on her. “Ben says he doesn’t want to do it!”

“It doesn’t _matter_ ,” Luther cries, throwing his hands up, and Allison is glad someone has some sense around here. Thank goodness Klaus is busy being the ‘lookout’ outside, and isn’t here to give his unwanted input. He’s always high these days, no use to anyone. “Those hostages are going to die!” It’s true. On the other side of this ornate golden door is a room full of criminals with guns, and there’s only one force on their team equipped to take out a threat like that.

“But… but if I go in there it’ll be a bloodbath. I can’t make them watch the Horror in action - they’ll be traumatized for life,” Ben says, lip trembling, but he holds his head up in defiance against Luther for maybe the first time ever. “No child should ever experience that. I’m not doing it and you can’t make me.”

A beat.

Luther stands unmoving, jaw set. A moment passes, and – he tilts his head, almost imperceptibly.

And although it almost looks like a nod, she knows him too well.

And Allison understands that their gazes have just met.

“No,” Ben says, the blood draining from his face. He backs away from her until he runs into the wall. “No, no, no—”

“It’s going to be okay,” she says in her best soothing voice.

Diego pulls out a knife. “Allison, I s-sw-swear t-to _God_!”

“ _I heard a rumour_ ,” she says carefully, levelled, and Ben cringes away, covering his face with his arms, and shame takes hold inside her but she can’t stop now, not after she’s begun, so she keeps going, “that you went in that room and used the Horror to kill those criminals.”

Allison can well imagine the look of absolute betrayal in Ben’s face. She’s seen it on others many times before this, but even so, she’s selfishly very thankful that she can’t see his eyes behind the mask. No matter how much it hurts, she stands her ground and watches him crack open the door to slip inside.

“Allison…” Diego trails off, sounding devastated, disgusted. She doesn’t look at him.

“It was the only way,” Luther answers for her. “Would you rather those hostages have _died_?”

“ _Yeah_ , Luther, I’m advocating f-for child m-murder now, you know me _so_ well,” Diego snaps, and their voices raise so much when they start yelling at each other that it almost covers the sounds of horrified screaming coming from the other side of the door.

Allison doesn’t bother trying to break up the fight. Her smile is so practiced by now that she’s certain their fans can’t tell the difference as she waves to them when they walk back to the waiting car. They’ve saved the day and the hostages, of course, as they always do, and she thinks it was worth it.

It has to have been worth it.

When they get home, Luther and Diego are both sporting fresh bruises, Ben won’t speak or look at anyone, Klaus is so high he probably has no idea what just happened ( _what Allison just did_ ), and Dad congratulates them on a job well done.

…

Allison is seventeen when she leaves the Umbrella Academy.

Diego goes first, screaming bloody murder at their father, and leaves without saying goodbye to anyone (except Mom, of course) or packing a suitcase, and Allison only feels slightly relieved that he didn’t actually kill Reginald.

Klaus slinks out in the dead of night, not bothering to hide the slamming of the door, and takes all the cutlery with him.

Five left long ago.

And Ben. Is dead. Ben is dead.

“Please, come with me,” she begs Luther, and he only stares at the floor, unmovable as always.

“I can’t,” he whispers. “I have to stay. He needs me.”

“He doesn’t _need_ you!” Allison hisses, maybe not as tactfully as she expected. “He never fucking _needed_ any of us, Luther, and he _never_ loved us either. Leave with me.”

Luther curls in on himself, shoulders shaking, but she doesn’t move to comfort him. “Ben needed me,” he says, so quietly, wringing his hands, and she gets it, she does, but she has to _go_. “I can’t leave.”

She could make him, and they both know it too well.

They sit there for a few moments, as she watches him sob silently without doing anything.

And then she leaves him there.

On her way to the kitchen, to say goodbye to Mom, Allison runs into Vanya on the stairs. Literally trips over her.

“Shit!” she says, only just managing not to fall on her face.

“Sorry,” Vanya whimpers, half her face hidden by long, straight hair.

She honestly doesn’t have anything to say, so she turns to go.

“You’re leaving too?”

Allison stops. “Of course I’m _leaving_.”

“But – Luther?”

“He’s not… he’s staying,” she answers stiffly.

Vanya only nods, sniffling. “Sorry.”

Allison bristles. Something about Vanya has always rubbed her the wrong way. “What are _you_ sorry for?”

Vanya flushes bright pink. “Oh, I – I don’t know,” she mumbles. “You’re just going to…”

“What?”

“…Leave him here?”

“Well,” Allison says, faltering, and tries to focus on the future waiting ahead of her, “he won’t really be alone. He’ll have Pogo and Mom.”

“Oh, I’m – I’m going to stay too,” Vanya says, looking up with sad brown eyes and smiling, and Allison feels a surge of resentment. “I’ll be here with him too.”

“I wasn’t talking about _you,_ ” she snaps, too harshly, and Vanya looks like she’s just been slapped. “You don’t even count. You’re _no one_.”

“I live here,” Vanya says weakly, looking hurt.

The audacity shocks her. Like Vanya can really think _anything_ in her small little life was even comparable to the horrors Allison and her team went through. She sat safely at home, _snivelling_ while Allison was watching Ben die in front of her. “No, you don’t,” she manages to say through her anger.

“Yes, I do!” Vanya says, still weakly. “I’m still a part of—”

“You are _not_ a part of the Umbrella Academy,” Allison growls. “And you should be thankful for that.”

“—this family,” Vanya finishes lamely, almost whispering.

“Like _that’s_ something to be proud of,” she says bitterly, and thinks of what being a part of this family did to Ben, to Luther, to Five. It wasn’t worth it. None of it was, in the end, she sees now. It was all for nothing.

“Why are you always so cruel?” Vanya asks, and Allison almost feels sorry for her, and she can’t answer because she doesn’t… she doesn’t know why. She’s just broken inside. “I have no employable skills,” Vanya goes on, looking away, “and no mind control powers to help me get whatever job I want – I have _nowhere_ else to go. That’s why I’m staying.” When Allison doesn’t respond, she starts to get annoyed, glancing up and whining in that voice she’s always used whenever she wanted attention, “You know Allison, I don’t know why you hate me so much. All I ever wanted was to be one of you! To be _special,_ like you!”

“That’s a stupid thing to want,” she says truthfully, finally having an answer. “If you were smart, you would have left this place a long time ago and lived a boring, normal life with boring, normal people like _you.”_ She can’t admit how seething with jealousy she feels in this moment.

“But this is my home too!”

“This isn’t a _home_ ,” Allison hisses. “It's a failed child soldier assembly line! You think if you stay, Dad will finally _love_ you? Because he _won’t,_ Number Seven! It’s not going to happen! You need to wake up!” Allison is going to go and search for real people to love her until her heart is whole again.

Vanya stands, her face streaked with tears and blotchy red. “I don’t _care_ about Dad, Allison!”

“Bullshit!”

“It’s _true_ ,” Vanya shouts. “I stopped giving a _crap_ what he thinks of me a long time ago!”

“Then, what, you’re staying for _Ben,_ too?” She scoffs and almost chokes. She thinks about the blood, the way he had only screamed once, piercing and heart-shattering. “What’s the point? He’s already dead.”

“You’re awful. I loved him _too_ , you know,” Vanya says with conviction. “I have just as much a right to my grief as you do. I probably knew him _better_ than you did!”

“That’s not—”

“I loved him,” Vanya repeats, voice watery. “I might not have been allowed into your little club, but I was the one he always came to after _you_ forced him to rip people to shreds.”

“You - you barely knew him! Or any of us,” Allison insists, even though she doesn’t really know, but the thought of an entire friendship happening that she never even knew about is too uncomfortable of an idea. She couldn’t have been that blind – that self-occupied. She clenches her jaw and digs herself deeper, clinging onto anger that she knows is going to blow up. “You spent your whole childhood _sulking_ , locked away in your room playing that stupid violin and begging for Dad’s attention while the rest of us—”

“Became heartless, cruel, selfish _jerks_ —”

Allison throws her arms out, chest heaving painfully. “We were fighting to the death, Vanya, of _course_ we did! You’re a whiny, miserable brat with no friends! What’s _your_ excuse?”

“ _You_ don’t know _anything_ about me,” Vanya shrieks, her whole body contorting with the force of the words. “I loved Five, and then he left, and I loved Ben, and you just let him _die_!”

They stand in silence, and Allison can’t form words for a moment because she can’t see anything, can’t think anything over the bright red haze of hatred that floods her body. She steps back.

“Allison, I—”

“You’re right, Vanya,” she says. “Everyone who loved you is gone, so there’s no reason you should stay.”

“No, that’s not—"

“You need to go,” she goes on coolly, despite the trembling in her hands. “You need to go away and never, _ever_ come back. You never deserved your place here – Dad should have done us all a favour, and dropped you off on an orphanage doorstep when he realised just how normal, how un-special, how _extra_ _ordinary_ you truly are.”

Vanya looks terrified, as she should. She steps forward. “Allison, just wait.”

“No,” Allison says, and she makes sure to look her sister right in the eye even as the other girl pleads with her to stop, to wait, to just think for a second, to see, and she takes a shallow breath and lets the words soak in the power inside her.

Vanya pathetically doesn’t even try to run, and just stands there with her palms out helplessly, alone and ordinary, but broken like the rest of them, and Allison hates her so much.

“ _I heard a rumour,_ Vanya,” Allison spits, “that you hated the Umbrella Academy so much that you left here and never wanted to come back ever again.”

Vanya’s eyes flicker with white, her lips parting in a silent gasp, and it feels like something familiar.

Allison watches her blink, stare at her hands, look up.

“Allison,” Vanya says in a cold voice. She takes a step forward, her mouth twisting into an ugly grimace, and her eyes flicker over Allison’s face, confused and angry. “What did you do to me?”

“I did you a favour,” Allison tells her, and steps aside from the stairway. “Get out.”

“With pleasure,” Vanya growls, her voice low and resentful, and she doesn’t spare her sister another glance, picking up her violin case with one erratic, furious motion – that must have been what Allison tripped over – and shoving past. Only when she is really gone, and the front door slams shut with glass rattling loudly, does Allison let out a breath.

Her heart is racing, and her palms hurt from where her nails dig into her skin. She forces herself to calm down, standing alone on the stairs. She wonders, with distance, if Luther, up in his room. heard everything that just happened.

She won’t think about what she just did, the implications, the ramifications – none of it matters. What punishments could she possibly face now? Allison is free, and she alone. Her powers are a part of her; without them, who would she even be?

She grits her teeth, and relaxes her hands, grimacing at the painful red marks in her flesh.

She could go and pack her things – all her magazines, her jewellery, her clothes.

But…

Allison can easily get new clothes. New magazines. And even new jewellery. Allison can, she realises with a thrill, get anything she wants, whenever she wants it, from anyone. She can get more, and more, and more.

She will never have to feel alone again.

She will never feel unloved again.

She doesn’t bother going to the kitchen to say goodbye to Mom. She leaves the locket.

Instead, on a whim, she follows in little Number Five’s footsteps, and walks straight out of the front door. In one last petty rebellion, she leaves it open as she goes, and doesn’t think about what she’s going to do, or where she’s going to go. She can do _whatever_ she wants.

The sky drizzles a light, lazy rain, and she turns her face up as she walks without a destination, and feels the wetness of it on her skin.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it!! Please let me know what you thought, it would really make my day. Also consider subscribing to the 'every little hurt counts' series for all your TUA febuwhump desires.
> 
> Well, see you tomorrow! :D


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